Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 54004 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 270(@200wpm)___ 216(@250wpm)___ 180(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 54004 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 270(@200wpm)___ 216(@250wpm)___ 180(@300wpm)
Daniel has finally started acting semi-normal around me again, saying—when I finally dared to ask what he thought about me and John—that he’d just been surprised by the secret, that was all. But pretty much everyone else acts cold as ice around me. And don’t even get me started on Bianca. I haven’t seen her face to face since the night John tracked me down the restaurant in a panic and told me she came on to him. I think—hope—that she’s embarrassed by her behavior. But who knows?
Ever since that night, she’s avoided the wood shop, stayed glued to her desk on the far side of the office, and dodges my glances, even going so far as to pretend to be on the phone anytime I’m within her vicinity.
I tell myself I don’t care. That I’ll get used to it. That my other colleagues will come around when we work together longer and they realize I’m dedicated to this job; that I didn’t just sleep my way into it. But for now… it rankles, I won’t lie.
It’s the only wrinkle in the otherwise shockingly perfect fabric of this life John and I have unexpectedly started together. When it’s just us together, or out with friends… the rest of the bullshit fades away. It’s just us, and I know this is right. It feels right, in a way I’ve never experienced before. In a way that makes me never want to let go.
I shake myself with a start, realizing that I’m just staring at my phone calendar daydreaming. But it’s when I shake myself out of it that my gaze lands on the date again. Double check it. Triple check.
My stomach does a backflip. Fuck. Is that the date?
My heart starts to hammer faster, my earlier thoughts forgotten as I tap on another app I installed a while back, a tracker, one I added just out of curiosity. Now, though, it’s coming in handy.
I check the dates again, do the math, and swear once more under my breath, softly.
I’m late. My period is late.
I swallow hard, wracking my brain. I take birth control, but I’m not exactly the best at sticking to strict schedules, especially since I’ve been working so much. Sometimes I take it in the mornings, sometimes in the evenings… John and I stopped using condoms since the two of us are definitely exclusive. But it never even occurred to me to worry about anything happening.
I’d been so focused on work, on figuring out what we wanted to happen with our marriage, that I didn’t even think about anything more practical.
My stomach churns, unsettled. It’s almost 9am, almost time for my coworkers to arrive. The last thing I want to face right now is anybody else walking in on me in the midst of figuring out this revelation. I grab my cell phone and beeline out of the office, waiting until I’m safely away from the entrance in the parking lot to dial.
Lea picks up on the second ring, sounding groggy. “Who is this early bird and what has she done with my best friend?” she grumbles into the line.
“I’m late,” I say, without any other greeting. “My period, it’s late.”
There’s a long beat of silence, followed by shuffling, the crumple of sheets. Lea crawling out of bed, most likely. Her bartending gig means that she works late nights and usually doesn’t rise before the crack of noon. I feel a little guilty for waking her this early, but any guilt is overshadowed by my growing worry.
“Well, at least you’re married, so it won’t be a bastard,” she says, after a long moment, and I half-laugh, half-groan into the phone. “Kidding, Mara. Deep breaths, okay? Don’t freak out until you know for sure if you are. Go to the store, get a test.”
“And then?”
“And then, figure out what you want to do.” There’s another sound. A shower turning on in the background. “I mean, you told me John was pretty baby crazy, right?”
“No, I told you his family is,” I clarify. “And crazy would be an understatement when it comes to his mother.” I can still picture that heap of gifts. Her face as she told me I owed them a baby, in exchange for being kept. Like I was some kind of pet her son had adopted at the shelter and dragged home.
My stomach churns again. Would I want to bring a child into that world?
But then I think about John. I think about his face when he talked about finding a wife, settling down. Or the way he looks at me, like I’m the only woman in the world who’s ever ignited him. We work so well together—both in marriage and in our actual work. If there’s anyone in the whole world I could picture myself having a family with, it’s him. He’s someone who would actually participate fully, who wouldn’t leave me to care for the kid all on my own, but who would take an equal role in parenting. I’m sure of it.